Friday, January 31, 2014

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Every
conclusion is yet another reference to the shackles we are confined to wear.We bring a box camera to river rapids of life and expect kayaking to produce
memorable stills.Every sensory
identification named, is
another brick in the prison, actually made by the endless
nametags given to everything we encounter, in
this insularly so fashioned.Mind into speakable
sentences is
a chain gang’s song of the day.All
perceived subject/object displays are lowbrow comparative truth comedies.Time
is the ultimate metaphor, for
not being real by lying and then being in wait.The
essence of history is as the essence of nowbut revealed as
results rather than isness.Knowledge is a tourist’s point of view.Breath is a deeper mundane
truth of this expressed.To
hold up a mirror is to view the
wily imminent recent past with steadfast intrigue.Our notion of details says more about
our
observational style than the ‘it’ we have confirmed at the very essence of
reality.There
is no audience at that very essence. There is no
reality there, for our pretendis only by
insular agreement,in our human offish sort of way.We
are the pride of our own slop, forever refining.Like a negative Zen, we
are bound to consciously eliminate everything that
it isn’t . . .

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

Open
pit mind, taking out all the supposed good stuff as if outed by conversation. The
raw minerals of thoughts, removed. The nitty gritty
gems of meaning becoming this
raw material
that drives the madness we live for. We are
always by refrain,
our best thoughts breakfast
shared. Then
that meaning, as a preserve, spread over
the bread of the day tasty,
topical, worthy of carriage. Memory tucked under an
arm of notation
to be further reviewed later with yet others. Call it hen house
chatter if you must, it leads
to egg production as the proof of worth, always in the scrambled mix of
things. Yes,
there is an intimacy in another’s comprehension, an endearment to be the understanding, even if not anointed
in the particulars by agreement. Sadly we tend to become DJ’s of stock
responses we have stored
on recall circuitry. Stories and
anecdotes as if cards to play where
conversation is at its toil best, that way. Open pit mind, without
rational withdrawal. That’s
more the take I would venture to enjoy. Authentic without the rules of presentation, without dress rehearsal, and
censure’s mirror time. Almost as if overheard, from one talking to oneself most honestly and directly. Candid
with the night sky as a soul listener is another way of
saying it. Open pit
mind and the sky tells no one else . . .